


Closer Than They Appear

by JiM, kalena



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiM/pseuds/JiM, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalena/pseuds/kalena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's had dreams he would've begged to be rescued from.   He can't just leave Danny in the grip of one this ugly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer Than They Appear

The P226 holstered between the mattress and box spring is in his hand before he's awake enough to place the cry ringing in his ears. It's Danny. Something's happening.

Bare feet careful on the old but solid wood floors, he eases around the corner and down the stairs, absorbing all the details as if through his skin. The cool night air is faintly humid. No swish of palms, no lap of waves. Utter silence. The light coming through the south windows is the moon's trail reflecting in; maybe 3 am. The TV tints everything with a faded blue, then yellow mist. Utter stillness.

He waits.

Crouched on the stairs, he hears nothing but one man's stuttered breath. There's nothing in the air that shouldn't be. He rises slowly and freezes in place as a pained whimper stops his heart.

It's Danny. He's alone. There's no one else in this house. If they were, Steve could hear them breathing. The horrific scenarios in Steve's mind fracture and dissolve, leaving his limbs weak.

Now that he's closer -- sneaking up on a sleeping man, safety back on, he drops the P226 on the copy of Surfer's World on the side table -- he can smell the fear. Danny's sleeping and he's terrified, drenched in sweat. Steve knows that he should leave him alone with his dreams no matter what they are; Danny's dreams are not for Steve. But he can't.

Steve has had dreams he would've begged to be rescued from. He can't just leave Danny in the grip of one this ugly. Up close, he can see the twist of Danny's mouth and the gray of his face under his stubble. His body pulls away from whatever's behind his eyelids.

"Danno!" Voice low and commanding, he raps out the name. No response except the clench of Danny's shoulders and a hitched breath.

"Detective Williams. Wake up!" He's still out of reach, and maybe he's in the wrong place. Maybe he needs to reach. If Danny strikes out, it won't be the first or the worst punch Steve's ever taken. Hell, maybe he owes Danny a couple free shots.

". . . dead." The word is a whisper and it licks a cold stripe across Steve's skin.

He should have known this would happen. There have been so many deaths. The vision of Jenna, two bullets ending her grief, almost overwhelms him.

"Danny, Danny, come on." For his own safety, he grabs Danny's biceps and shakes him. "Nobody's dead, I mean it, fucking wake up!" Danny's nightmare is infecting Steve while he's awake. This is bad.

"Steve!" If Danny was really awake, it'd be a shriek in Steve's ear. He pulls back, away from the smell of dread and the piercing shrillness.

"Oh, Christ, you were -- what's --" Danny's skin is slick under Steve's fingers. His glazed eyes plead for help.

Steve feels the desperation leaking away from both of them, Danny still agitated, Steve nearly limp with relief. "It's okay, Danny, it's all right." His own voice is too fragile. "Listen to me. It was a dream."

He is half-kneeling beside the couch, half bent over Danny. He wonders if Danny can even see his face in the gloom, or just his outline limned in blue, indistinct and unreadable. He hopes so. He's naked.

That's never meant anything to him before, and he doesn't know if it matters now. He's always been naked to Danny, even if it didn't show on the outside. The first day they met, Danny ripped away all Steve's armor. Nothing's changed since. He's wondered, sometimes, how a man who knows so much about acceptable behavior is so oblivious to himself. No man Steve's ever known has showered him with so much affection, so much rough caring.

Now Danny is bared to Steve. The dark stuff inside of him is pouring out as if from a lanced ulcer. "You -- you were dead." Danny's voice is shredded, throat no doubt sore from screaming in his dream. There are tears on his cheeks. "Don't be dead."

"Not dead. I'm here." Steve can't reach anything so he pulls the blankets down, frees Danny's hands. He can't stop himself from pushing his face against Danny's. The scratch of bristle is loud in his ears. He lets out a harsh breath, one held inside since that day in his father's garage. His garage. "It's okay now." He can smell Danny's scent more strongly here, deep and sharp. Danny's arms come up to grab at him. They're still shaking.

"What happened?" He expects Danny to talk. Danny always talks.

Instead, a sob rattles out of Danny's lungs, seizes his body. "I . . . you." And then he's crying for real, clinging as Steve shifts up onto the couch, chest heaving. He tries to hold back, Steve can feel it, but it's no use. Christ, he's never heard someone let go like this. This is anguish, pure and simple.

It's over soon enough, Danny coughing and wheezing against the tide, and Steve feels like he just lost something precious. What the fuck is wrong with him? Nothing good ever happens at 3 a.m.

"What happened?" Steve knows Danny would never believe that he could be soothing, or even try, but in this, he's been trained by the best. Men as hard as the rock of these islands have held him in the night. Wiped his tears away. They knew what he'd seen and done -- and lived through, again and again, in his dreams.

He tucks Danny's face into his neck and scuffs blunt fingers through his hair. "Tell me. Get it out."

Danny's breath is hot and fast against his throat. It all comes out in a rush, in a quaver. "Grace, they took Grace. You went. We came for you. Grace, she was . . . outside the bunker. She was, she was. Perfect. Her dress, her hair, little white shoes. She said," a retch broke his words, "'Steve's inside, Danno.' And you were. Chained on the floor, just like Jenna."

In all the horrors of all his nightmares, it's never been Danny. Just imagining it is a serrated knife slicing his gut.

"Your eyes." He feels Danny stiffen as he gags, then recovers. "I closed your eyes."

He realizes that he has started rocking Danny in his arms, the two of them moving together.

Steve already knows how it would be if he had to close Danny's eyes. The knowledge wrings a small sound from him and he clutches Danny more tightly. His own bile rises in sympathy. "It's okay now. We're here. We're okay."

"But . . . I saw it," Danny whispers. He's not arguing with Steve. He's trying to tell Steve that the world has changed. This possibility is now in Danny's universe, has burned him by its mere existence. He's seen the worst the world has in it. He doesn't know how he can forget.

Steve knows there is no way to forget, not really. All he can offer is distraction until Danny can slot it away among all the other things you try not to think about under the sun. It's only a bandaid over the wound, a wound to be prodded and inspected in the dark hours after midnight.

He rubs Danny's back, long slow strokes that he hopes promise some kind of relief. "'S fine, big guy. It's all okay now." He knows how bad it is, how needy he's been in the aftermath, and he's still shocked when Danny's lips touch his mouth. They slide along his cheek first, rubbed raw against his night beard. When they finally touch his, they taste of his own sweat.

"Please," they whisper against his face. "Please."

No, no, not now, this is not the time, but maybe it's the only time. Steve has always known that Danny is not for him, and therefore, can't help but want him all the more. Steve knows he's too dark for Danny, that there are too many shadows and secrets in him for someone like Danny to live with. To love. But just once, this once, he could do as Danny asks. Nothing helps forgetting like a firm hand around your cock. The sleep that comes after orgasm is sweet, deep and dream-free. Danny needs to forget. He touches Danny's face, his brow. "Yes," he says.

He tries to set it aside. This has nothing to do with him, only with his hand, his warm body, being there. He can't allow himself to savor this.

His stupid rebellion holds Danny close, touches him tenderly, wishes things were different. Wishes and horses. He jerks Danny off efficiently, listens to the breath rushing beside his ear, sighs when Danny does. Holds him through the spasms . . . then lays him down and strokes his hair until he falls asleep, not ten breaths later.

After kissing Danny's still-damp forehead, he turns off the TV. He climbs upstairs to bed alone, slow and stiff like an old man. He won't touch himself with the knowledge of Danny on his hands. After a long time, he sleeps.

He wakes up with . . . a heavy arm thrown across his chest, and a blond head breathing warm and moist against his shoulder.

Steve couldn't let himself want this, but he has reckoned without Danny, who will force it on him, because he needs it. Because they both need it. Something like joy shifts inside of him. He smiles against the pillow.

The only way to survive the nightmares is to face them down, one by one.

They can face them together.


End file.
